


Good Girl

by Ringlee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Oral Sex, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringlee/pseuds/Ringlee
Summary: You've only been with the Van Der Linde gang for a few months. You finally convinced Dutch to let you run a job on your own, only to royally screw it up. Now, you've got to tell Dutch and accept your punishment.
Relationships: Dutch van der Linde/Reader
Kudos: 47





	Good Girl

“Who’s there?” Arthur’s voice called from the trees.  
  
“It’s me!” you yelled back, wiping the sweat from your sunburned brow.

“Welcome back,” he replied, stepping out from behind a large oak. He slowly looked you over, his brow furrowing at your disheveled hair and dusty clothes. “What the hell happened to you? Where’s your horse?”

“Don’t ask,” you muttered, and continued to walk by him without breaking stride. The last thing in the world you felt like doing at that moment was explaining to Arthur Morgan how you’d gotten held up and cleaned out by the very person you’d set out to rob. 

You continued trudging down the path toward camp. The ride from Rhodes to Clemens Point was nothing on horseback, but it took over an hour on foot. You’d spent most of that time fretting over what you were going to say to Dutch. Having only been with the gang a few months, you were nervous about how he’d react to your little fiasco. From what you knew about him, he was a good man who looked out for his people, but he also tolerated no fools. Well, save Bill. And it didn’t help that you’d spent an entire week convincing him that you could handle the job alone. And now look at the mess you’d made.

The man had seemed like an easy mark. You’d met him a few weeks back, when you went to the saloon with Javier and Karen. Well-dressed and wide-eyed, he was buying drinks for half the people there, throwing money around like it was nothing. You spent some time sweet talking the fellow, initially intending to pick his pockets that night. But by then he’d spent most of his money on drinks and spun some yarn about an inheritance he had coming in. So you decided to hold off, string him along, arrange to meet him in a few weeks when his wallet would be full again. Only problem was, he was on to you from the beginning. And apparently a better crook than you, too. When you arranged to meet up with him again, he and his friend ambushed you outside town and grabbed your guns and satchel. Then, they’d stolen the prize they’d probably been after from the beginning, the silver necklace your aunt had given you so long ago. And just to rub it in, the damn bastards had even taken your horse. 

As you reached the edge of camp, you saw that dinner had just been served. Everyone was slowly congregating around the stew pot, forming into a line of sorts. You knew they’d all eat together around the fire, except for Dutch, who liked to eat either alone or with his woman. You realized this might be your best opportunity to speak to him without an audience, and headed straight for the man’s tent.

The flaps were drawn tight, and a small part of you hoped he was busy, maybe resting or spending private time with Molly, and you’d be turned away. But when you stepped close to the tent and called out “Dutch?” his voice came back clearly. 

“Come in.”

You sighed and entered through the flaps, letting them fall closed behind you. Dutch was sitting in a chair in the corner of his tent, one leg crossed over the other, an open book in his lap. He was wearing his black vest over a crisp, white shirt, his gold pocket watch chain hanging just so. You always marveled at his appearance - seemed he was the only one able to stay put together out in this muggy filth. He looked up at you with dark eyes.

“How’d it go?”

“Not well,” you replied, never one to mince words. He raised an eyebrow and you looked down at the floor, toeing the wooden boards there. “Turns out he was runnin’ a scam on me. Had a friend I didn’t know about. They got me outside town. Took all my supplies, my weapons. Even my damn horse.” The last few words were barely audible.

“I see,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair. He stared at you for what seemed like an eternity. You could feel the heat traveling up your chest and neck to redden your cheeks. The silence was like a weight pushing down on your shoulders, and you had to say something.

“I… I’m sorry, Dutch.”

Suddenly he slapped the book shut, the covers snapping together with a sound that made you jump in surprise. He threw it down next to his chair, then stood up. “You should be,” he growled. He sounded furious. You looked up at him and the glare he was giving you was enough to make your stomach dip in fear. He was next to you in a second, covering the ground in one step. The man towered over you, and his face was painted with anger. You stepped back, but the back of your legs hit his cot and there was nowhere to go. 

“You assured me that you could handle this,” he snarled, moving closer. You could smell him now, a mix of the open air and cigars and something musky underneath it all. 

“I… I thought I could,” you stammered. “I mean, I _could_ have, it just… didn’t go right this time.” 

“And then you crawl in here,” Dutch continued, as though you’d never opened your mouth, “tryin’ to apologize to me. To _me_?” 

Your heart was racing, pounding against your chest. You’d never been this close to the man, had never even been alone with him, and your head was spinning from his presence. 

“Bend over,” he said, his voice a whip crack. 

You looked at him in confusion. “What?”

But you’d barely gotten the word out and he’d grabbed one of your arms and pulled you even closer to him. “I said… _bend over_.” 

You had a sudden urge to run from the tent, and part of you seemed to understand that if you did, he would let you go. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, and instead you found yourself turning away from him and bending over. As you went down, he grabbed you, one hand on your back and the other on your hip, and pushed you down until your face nearly touched the top of his cot. You spread your hands on the blanket there, trying to calm down, trying to understand what was happening. All the while a small voice from somewhere inside you whispered that you knew exactly what was happening. And there was a reason you hadn’t left, wasn’t there?

He was standing directly behind you, each hand on either side of your hips, and he pushed his crotch up tight against your ass. You could feel how hard he was and, without even meaning to, you arched your back and rolled into him. You heard his breath catch, then he was reaching around to unbuckle your belt, push down your pants and drawers, yanking them down to the ground until you were completely bare. He pulled away and you turned slightly to see what he was doing when his voice shot out again.

“Did I say you could turn around?”

“Umm.. no,” you replied, putting your face back down, nose almost touching the blanket under your fingertips. Then you felt his hands again, shoving your legs apart wider, or at least as wide as they’d go with your pants still around your ankles. You were completely exposed to him and instead of the shame or embarrassment you expected, there was pressure pooling down below, an ache so intense you could feel yourself pulsing in need. 

Whack! The blow came without warning. His hand fell on your backside, stinging and making you cry out, more in surprise than pain.

“Did I say you could make a noise?” he yelled, before his hand came down again, harder than before. You bit your lip to keep the cry inside. You could feel your own wetness dripping down your thighs. His hand came down again, then again. Over and over he spanked you, until your entire backside was on fire and you were doing all you could to stop yourself from reaching a hand down to stroke yourself and relieve the pressure. Finally, you heard him step back. 

“Turn around,” he said. You stood up and slowly turned to face him. It was difficult with your pants still around your ankles, but you dared not reach down and pull them up. He was sitting back down in his chair, an assessing look on his face. “Take off your shirt,” he said. You complied and were soon bare chested before him. “And the rest of it,” he continued, waving his hand almost dismissively toward the pants at your feet. 

You were fully undressed, when you heard the sound of laughter from somewhere out by the campfire. Suddenly you realized anyone could walk in. 

“What about Molly?” you asked, looking around. 

His voice was like an iron fist in the room. “Miss O’Shea is not your concern. Sit.” You nodded and positioned yourself on the cot. If you could hear the others sitting around the campfire, then they surely could hear the two of you, right? Dutch’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “Touch yourself,” he instructed. 

You hesitated. You’d never done this under someone else’s gaze before. But you knew what he wanted. You brought your hands up to your breasts and slowly squeezed them together, then spread your legs wide, letting him see every inch of you. You closed your eyes and reached a hand between your legs, your fingers circling slowly, knowing exactly how to move. You imagined it was Dutch’s hand instead of your own, massaging you over and over, winding you tighter. You thought you could hear him breathing, but by now you were so lost in the feeling that you barely noticed, keeping your eyes closed, fingers moving faster. When the tension finally released, it racked through your body and you writhed on the cot, moaning and whimpering. You relaxed back against the blanket, smiling and sighing, the last pulses fading away. 

You opened your eyes to see Dutch was standing in front of you, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock. You slowly sat up and he reached out a hand to rest on your head, scrunching his fingers in your hair, pulling your face to him. You opened your mouth and took him in, looking up into his face as he watched you intently. 

“Can you be a good girl for me?” he purred. You ran your tongue up and down his shaft, suddenly wanting to please him, wanting to make him feel good. He began lightly bucking his hips into you, the size of him taking you by surprise. But you recovered quickly and kept going, trying to open yourself to him as best you could. “Mmmm, yes… that’s it,” he murmured, both hands in your hair now, pulling you into him. 

His breath was coming in strangled gasps now, and his hips began moving more forcefully. He thrust himself fully into you several times, making your eyes water and your lungs burn for air. Then he let out a low groan and pulled himself out of your mouth to spend himself on your breasts and stomach, his stomach tensing and releasing, his fingers still balled up tightly in your hair. 

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, his hand moving down to caress your cheek for a moment. From somewhere a handkerchief appeared, and he gently wiped himself from your chest, taking care to get everything. Then, he turned and did up his pants and buckled his belt, and sat back down in his chair. He had taken up his book and began reading again before you realized you were being dismissed. You quickly pulled on your clothes, thinking that you should feel embarrassed or ashamed, but instead you found you could barely contain the smile on your lips. Once you had put yourself together, you stole one more glance at him, then exited the tent, letting the flaps close behind you.


End file.
